Roman Holiday
by Iphigenia
Summary: Slash. Crossover with Highlander. In this long-awaited episode, Oliver and Percy perfom a dark prophecy ritual to stop Ginny.
1. Roman Holiday

Title: Roman Holiday (1/1)

Author: Iphigenia

Email: SharLee224@aol.com

Pairings: Oliver/ Percy, Oliver/Harry

Rating: R

Improv #2: holiday- rapt- candle- feast

Summary: In the midst of a war-torn world in which friends and family fight on opposite sides, Percy Weasley takes a holiday.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and associated corporations.

Spoilers: none

Notes: Implied twincest and characters are kind of OOC. Thanks to Elske, my wonderful and speedy beta.

A young man, with short red hair and icy blue eyes, sat, reading a forty-page budget proposal- that no one else would bother to read- waiting for the clock to turn six. Six, that magical number. Three of which was Satan's number. Not that it mattered much to the wizarding community. Wizards were not, as a rule, Christian. They didn't believe in God, and they certainly didn't believe in the Devil or 666.

Today was a Wednesday, the third day in a row that Percy Weasley, aged twenty-six, would be leaving work at six. The rest of his department went home at five. Percy worked from six in the morning to six at night for much-needed overtime pay and to stay away from the Burrow. He could no longer stand to be there. He wanted to get out, but safe housing was scarce in wartime.

_Six minutes,_ he thought, inking his quill for the sixth time. Six minutes and he would have to go home. Although the Burrow was quite busy and running at full capacity, Percy knew that tonight, at least, he would be missed. All the Weasleys would be home for Midsummer's Feast, an old wizarding tradition dating back to the 1500's.

His father, Arthur- a Ministry employee himself- would be sitting contentedly in the kitchen, drinking a butterbeer, making a nuisance of himself as his wife Molly hustled and bustled about, making a scrumptious feast from scratch. Percy's eldest brother, Bill, would be wearing a dashing fedora and talk about his exotic adventures in curse breaking with Hermione, who would be listening with rapt attention. Charlie, a dragon keeper currently working in Romania and living life as if there weren't a war on, would make a dramatic entrance, then disappear into the garden with his "dog," Snuffles, (otherwise known as one escaped convict, whom Charlie was harboring not-so-secretly) for hours at a time and return wearing a satisfied smirk, ignoring the pointed looks from most of the family. The twins would cause trouble, be sent to their room, and come down smelling of sex and candy, also ignoring said pointed looks. Ron would sulk because he wouldn't be able getting any attention (let alone anything else) from Hermione, who would be up in Bill's room, door locked, doing who-knows-what. The only remaining Weasley was Ginny, the youngest sibling, from whom Ron wouldn't get any attention either. Actually, Ginny wouldn't even be there. Not this year, possibly never again. She had gone over to Voldemort's side after her graduation, much to the surprise of her family. Well, every Weasley but Percy was shocked. Percy was not, although he had to feign outrage and run to Fudge demanding that she be hunted down. In reality, Harry Potter had told him about her months ago. The Boy Who Lived and commander of the Order of the Phoenix, the Light's side's main, if not a bit shady, hope for defeating the Dark Lord, would also be at the feast, distracting Ron from Hermione's temporary absence. The beautiful Miss Granger was now a top Auror along with her boyfriend Ron. They were incredibly sweet together, when they were together, that is. When they were, they were sweet. Sickly sweet. Percy wondered if Hermione was seeing Bill on the side. Ron and Hermione were much too sweet to be real.

There was no such thing as happily ever after, Percy knew. Penelope Clearwater, top potions researcher at the Luna Foundation, was a textbook example of this. He had been married to Penn for exactly six months before she had been murdered. Not by Death Eaters, mind. Her own lab assistants did it. They said it was an accident. Percy knew better, of course. Harry told him later that it had been an Auror operation, with the command issued by none other than a certain Ron Weasley. Penn, raised in the liberal British muggle world, had been speaking out against the increasing Ministry restrictions and censorship. The job of the Aurors was to keep civil order. So a candle had been lit in the chamber, just as Penn had been purifying some magical benzene- a very explosive combination. With a simple "incendio" spell, Penelope had been snuffed out. By his youngest brother. Percy hated the war, but he hated Ron even more. He didn't tell him, though, and continued to pretend that he didn't know. Percy had no idea how Harry managed to conceal it all from everyone. No one suspected a thing.

At six precisely, a large black owl swept into the small, cramped office. The unfamiliar owl dropped a scroll on his desk, then flew out the window without so much as a hoot. Percy regarded the scroll warily. Finally, after a considerable amount of countercursing, he opened the scroll. _Dear Percy, _it read, its letters formed by a cold, impersonal muggle typewriter, _It's the day! I'm taking a holiday in Rome. Care to join me? I've missed you so much. Love, Audrey. _Attached, he found a muggle passport with his photo on it, a plane ticket to Rome, and a large packet of euros (used).

Hissing, Percy dropped the packet as if it were nightshade. So this was it. His final chance to get out, encoded in a seemingly simple message. "The day", of course, was D-Day. Not the date of the muggle attack- this simply meant that this was the real thing. The holiday, too, was doublespeak. If Percy went, he would never be coming back. At least not until the war was over, which could be for many years to come. Maybe never. Perhaps Harry would turn dark, and the Light side would never win. Percy could very well be leaving forever. To be with him. His boyhood lover, Oliver, who was now, according to reports, a top Death Eater operative. Was the letter a trap? Percy found that he no longer cared. He was almost certain that if it was, Oliver was behind it. Both Oliver and Percy had eidetic memories, and Percy well remembered the romantic Audrey Hepburn muggle film they had watched so long ago. Percy decided he would go. One way or the other, he was taking a holiday from it all. He had had enough of this war and this life.

He looked around his office casually. The surveillance was there, if not immediately visible. Taking out his wand and murmuring "incendio," he quickly burnt the letter to a crisp, and swept the ashes into his wastebasket, thankful that he had been doing this to his papers on a regular basis. His actions would draw no suspicions, for a while, at least. The passport, ticket, and money went into a hidden pouch around his right thigh. The letter and its contents thoroughly disposed of, Percy surveyed his room for a final time, searching for any mementos to bring with him. To his satisfaction, he found none. Percy made it a point to keep his office as blank and impersonal as his outer persona, so as to prevent his enemies from gauging his personality. In a cool and collected hand that bellied his Order membership, Percy wrote one final note to the Ministry. The note, on crisp white parchment, was placed neatly on his immaculate desk, with a paperweight placed thoughtfully on top of it, so that it would not blow to the floor accidentally. The whole process had taken six minutes. At 6:06:06 PM, Percy Weasley apparated to the Burrow, leaving the Ministry behind forever. He had no regrets.

The Burrow was bustling with activity, and no one seemed to notice the quiet young man who crept up the stairs. He made his way to his room quickly and efficiently. Closing the door silently, he turned to find someone sitting patiently on his bed. Sparkling green eyes studied him intently, no longer hidden behind glasses he no longer needed. Involuntarily, Percy shuddered. Harry Potter did not study people for the fun of it- he had to save the world.

"Going somewhere, Percy?" he asked, his voice calm and in control. That's what Percy liked about the new Harry. Harry had grown up fast, and didn't joke around. Just straight, and to the point. Percy looked into his eyes. Harry knew.

"I'm taking a brief holiday this weekend," Percy muttered, packing his meager possessions into a nondescript black bag. The Order had prepared him well for this whole disappearing thing, though he was loathe to admit it.

Harry smiled, satisfied with Percy's choice. "A Roman holiday, perhaps?" 

Percy dropped the sweater he was holding (a distinctive Weasley sweater, which he could not bring with him) and whirled around. He had expected the Order to know that he was leaving, as they were one of the ones who kept his office under surveillance, but not the exact contents of the letter, down to the obscure muggle reference. "How did you know that?" 

"Oliver sent me this," he said, handing Percy a letter. It was identical to Percy's, except for the name. Harry, with his lean, muscled build and his smooth pale skin, was the picture of sexy, studied boredom as he added, by way of explanation, "I was raised in a muggle household. Of course I know Audrey Hepburn."

Percy sat down onto the bed next to his boss. "How do I know you didn't simply intercept mine?" he asked, wary of a trap from his own side. Much as he admired and trusted his friend Harry, Percy was after all trying to leave the war effort. One would think that the commander of said effort would be a bit opposed to having an operative, especially such a talented one like Percy, leave. But then again, he reflected, said commander was Harry. One never knew quite what to expect from the world's most powerful wizard.

As if he could hear Percy's thoughts (which he might have, Percy remembered), Harry lazily pointed his finger at the door, locking it. Percy tensed, uncomfortable with Harry's display of his true power. Harry's power had been increasing exponentially since graduation from Hogwarts, and there seemed to be no limit as to what he could do.

"How do you suppose the Order got all of its information before everyone else?" Harry asked, turning so that he faced Percy directly.

Percy blinked, surprised by the non sequitur. "We had an informant, I suppose."

"Yes. Oliver was the informant. And my lover," Harry told Percy, studying his reaction carefully. Harry, of course, was completely in control of his emotions. He, unlike Percy, had learned. "It's no excuse, of course. I knew you two loved each other- still do, in fact."

"Oh?" Percy asked in a stained voice, fighting a losing battle to keep his expression neutral. His mind filled involuntarily with images of Oliver and Harry in bed together.

"Yes. I seduced him. We needed a way of regularly passing information without suspicion," Harry admitted, having the grace to look contrite. "I'm sorry."

Percy was finally able to steel himself with his years of experience at being cold and unemotional. "What are you sorry for? We haven't even seen each other since Oliver joined them." Them. The Death Eaters. The words stung bitterly in Percy's ears. Oliver had joined the Death Eaters the day after his wedding to Penelope. It was Percy's own fault. Oliver turned to the Dark side because of him. He made a careful study of the ceiling.

"Percy," Harry said forcefully, grabbing Percy's chin and forcing Percy to look at him. "Percy. Don't be mad at Oliver for it, and don't blame yourself. This whole mess is no one's fault. It's killing him. This letter is his leave notice. He can't take it anymore, Percy. Do you think it's easy, keeping that façade up? God knows, the roles we play are hard enough, but a Death Eater, Percy, has no time to himself. His every movement is under surveillance, even in bed. Oliver needs this, Percy, and he needs you, too."

"How do you know?" Percy asked, tears streaming down his face. It was bad enough imagining Oliver as a Death Eater, but thinking of him doing all that and hating every minute was almost worse. Oliver had been unhappy with his life for all those years, suffering so much just for a few bits of information that no one could use without giving him away.

"He called me Percy in bed," Harry said, bring Percy back from his thoughts. "Don't deny your love, Percy. I've seen you both. You're dying inside, Percy. Little by little. If you don't take this holiday, you'll die."

Percy gave Harry an incredulous look. "So you're not stopping me?"

The Boy Who Lived shook his head slowly, allowing his stress to show. "Far from it. I wish I could too, though."

Percy studied the enigma in front of him. The thin red scar on his pale forehead was proof of why Harry Potter, of all the wizards in the world, had the most to lose by staying. "Why can't you? Didn't Oliver send you a ticket?"

Harry gave Percy a look of intense longing. "It is not my decision to make. You know very well what would happen if I left now. It would be just as bad as giving in to the Dark side, perhaps worse. I cannot and will not. You, on the other hand, have the chance to save yourself. Do it, Percy. I won't hate you for it. Hell, I'm going to cover for you in a few minutes. Here," he said, thrusting a muggle watch at him. "Put this on. It's my gift to you, as well as a one-time port-key to Heathrow. It activates in six minutes." As their fingers touched, a blue spark leapt from Harry to Percy. Harry shrugged. "Oh, sorry, I've been doing that a lot lately. I need to figure that out still."

Percy nodded, dismissing the spark. It was probably Harry just giving off magic again. Percy put on the gold timepiece. "You certainly timed this out," he observed, adopting Harry's studied nonchalance.

Harry smiled. "I try," he admitted, ignoring his tendency to plan everything out down to the tiniest detail. Percy would miss that, although many would say that Percy himself could more than make up for that habit.

"So this is goodbye, then?" Percy asked. Of all the people Percy would be leaving behind, he would miss Harry the most.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and running his fingers along Percy's chin thoughtfully. "Only a 'see you later'. Check the wizarding news occasionally. When the war is over, look in the classified section of a major muggle newspaper. If I am still alive, I will take out an ad addressed to you. What shall I call you?"

"666," Percy replied, after only a moment's hesitation. That number had been haunting him all day and it was good to finally get it in the clear.

Harry grinned. "Thought you didn't believe in that."

"I don't," Percy confirmed. Impulsively, he leaned forward and snogged Harry. Harry didn't resist. In fact, he returned the favor. Six seconds until the port-key activated, they stepped back.

"Give Oliver my love," Harry said softly. Turning towards Percy's bag, he waved his hand over it and handed it to Percy fully packed.

Percy took it unquestioningly. He had faith in Harry's spellcasting abilities. If Harry packed his bags, he could be sure everything was packed in there, perfectly folded to optimum efficiency. "Tell my family I love them," Percy said, half-wondering why he hadn't the guts to tell them himself. 

Harry, though, didn't question him. He simply nodded, smiled sadly, and said, "Until next time."

Percy smiled the first real smile he had smiled since Penelope. "Until next time," he said, feeling the familiar tug at his navel. The world spun, and Percy was on his way. He was going on a holiday with Oliver Wood. Nothing else mattered.


	2. Flying Free of the Nets

Title: Flying Free of the Nets

Author: Iphigenia

Email: SharLee224@aol.com

Pairing: Oliver/Percy

Spoilers: the first four books

Rating: R for explicit violence

Sequel Info: Part of an unfinished series, entitled, "A Portrait of the Wizard as a Young Man."

Summary: Spies Oliver and Percy begin to discover the truth on a flight to Rome.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Note: Follows directly after "Roman Holiday." To summarize, the "Portrait of the Wizard as a Young Man" series goes "Waking From the Dream," "La Sourire," "Roman Holiday," and "Flying Free of the Nets." I'm sorry about the long delay since my last chapter, but studies come first (well, and Star Wars!). Not in the same universe as "Blame It on the Dance." Thanks to my invaluable beta, Elske.

For those readers unfamiliar with my series or have forgotten what happened in "Roman Holiday," Percy has just left his life in Britain to be with his old flame Oliver, who has been working as a Death Eater spy for Harry Potter. Got that? If you're still scratching your head, try reading "Roman Holiday" first.

The swirl of bright gaudy colors pulsed around Percy's line of vision, the Portkey pulling him crazily through the pulsing blurriness and confusion of space. The dueling colors of red and gold flashed once more and then disappeared quickly, as he landed with a rough jerk. He stumbled forward into the hard plastic door of what appeared to be a bathroom stall, his bag dropping forgotten onto the tiled floor. Romantic notions forgotten, he straightened himself, bracing perhaps a bit unsteadily against the cold, unforgiving prefabricated partitions. This was it. He was really doing it. Trembling, his right hand touched the cool metal of the watch; the means through which he had arrived and could never go back. Despite the physical, tangible proof, he still could not believe he had actually had the guts to go through with it.

"Hey!" a brash American voice called, cutting crisply through the general din. "Are you all right in there?"

"Yes, thank you," Percy answered, a bit unnerved by having a conversation of this level of familiarity in an airport restroom stall- with an American, of all people. "I just slipped, that's all." Mentally, he berated his thoughts for wandering. He was not out yet. He had to focus now. Second-guessing his admittedly impulsive decision could come later.

"Sure," the voice said mockingly. "Are you sure you're alone in there?" The voice laughed heartily, rather pleased with his joke. Percy blushed at the slight innuendo and remained silent, praying madly for the irritating tourist to leave. Finally, the sound of the man's laughter died out as the man left the restroom and Percy was left in the anonymity of the empty bathroom.

Looking behind him, Percy found that his large black bag seemed to have had a smoother trip than he had- it had settled unobtrusively on the tiled floor behind him. Searching rapidly through the side pockets, the slim, red-haired young wizard soon found what he was looking for- his identity information. The muggle passport Harry had provided him with identified him, somewhat teasingly, as Paul Weatherby, whereas Oliver's passport cast him just as cleverly as Stephen Daedalus. Percy cringed slightly, not sharing Oliver's taste for literary aliases- he much preferred the more unobtrusive and unnoticeable identity Harry had provided him with. Surely a muggle would pick up on the unusual Joyce alias printed on his ticket. Still, he had no choice but to use the Daedalus papers, since his ticket was in Stephen's name. He quickly and efficiently secreted his Weatherby papers in a hidden pocket in his bag and turned to his Daedalus papers, carefully memorizing his identity. For the duration of his flight, which left in about two hours, he would be Stephen Daedalus, a young Irish muggle writer idealistically seeking truth, beauty, freedom, and love. Or some bullshit like that.

In this mindset, Stephen Daedalus walked calmly out of the stall, rolling a large black suitcase neatly behind him. After pausing briefly to splash his dry face with water, he proceeded to a nearby bench, thinking rapidly over his obstacles. First, there was the problem of his luggage, which was unfortunately too large to be carried on as he normally preferred to do. If he checked his bag, it would seem suspicious not to have a carry-on as well. Opening the lower side pocket of his bag, Stephen found that it zipped off to become a handsome leather laptop case. Indeed, further inspection revealed a sleek black laptop with accessories. Smiling slightly, he placed his identity documents and his wand in the case, then wheeled off to the check-in counter.

Standing in the long tourist-class line- business, of course, was more comfortable but more conspicuous as well- Stephen was seized with an irrational wave of anxiety. Had he forgotten anything that would make him stand out? He realized with a jolt that he had shed his Ministry robes almost unconsciously back at the Burrow, revealing his standard 'uniform' of khaki slacks and a rumpled white Oxford shirt. This was, luckily, almost appropriate attire for the late flight he was taking. He realized now the logic behind Harry's seemingly illogical insistence that he wear muggle business attire under his robes everyday. Most of his co-workers, he knew, rarely even bothered with such formality- instead, they opted for more informal attire, if they even bothered at all. Satisfied with his appearance, Stephen then turned his attention to his fellow travelers, his sharp blue eyes quickly evaluating each as potential threats. 

A flash of red hair passed by, causing him to turn, but it was only a muggle. With a tinge a regret, the young wizard thought about the family he would not see again. Harry would have told the Weasleys by now, solemnly telling them of Percy's death after having carefully sanitized Percy's room. He would be declared dead- of that, Percy was certain. A missing person would require the Ministry to allocate resources, and Harry would not waste such resources on a man who was already far from the reach of the Ministry. So he was dead in the eyes of British wizarding law. His meager Gringott's savings would disappear into a numbered but untraceable Swiss account.

With a clarity he hadn't known he could imagine, he knew without a doubt his family's reactions. His father would be sad, of course, but Percy didn't for a second entertain the notion that he would be as missed as Bill was, the time that Bill disappeared for a year. Wizards still kept with the tradition of primogeniture; therefore Bill as the eldest son was prized above all else. While his father was pleased that Percy had chosen to follow him into the Ministry, there was a lingering resentment over the fact that Percy had managed to outdo his father. He had risen rapidly, against all odds - and considerable opposition from Lord Malfoy – to become the youngest Deputy Director of intelligence in sixty years. Yet his father's career languished, forgotten in the Department of Muggle Artifacts- itself an absurdly useless department that seemed to exist only to educate those isolationist wizards too stubborn to learn for themselves. Percy, too, knew that despite his youth, he had learned more in his few years under Harry's training about muggle society than his father had ever even understood. Although he had tried to conceal this knowledge, it slipped out occasionally, in simple everyday things. A muggle phrase there, a too easy repair of the car his father had brought home (a simple oil change), and he was effectively alienated from his father. Their conversations together had consisted of uneasy silences punctuated by forced pleasantries and mindless small talk. There would be no love lost between them.

For his mother, Percy's death would be overshadowed by the specter of Ginny's defection. Molly Weasley had been devastated by her only daughter's betrayal, and had never really been the same caring mother he once knew. While she continued to cook and clean and fuss as before, one got the feeling that she was just playing a role, going tiredly through the motions. She continued to obsess over Ginny's defection, blaming herself for failing to notice the warning signs. It was quite possible that she would, in her state of mind, blame his death on Ginny, but other than that, Percy was sure that she would be only temporarily saddened.

It would be a cold day in hell before Bill would even notice his absence at family gatherings, having himself cut off almost all contact with his family. The only reason he was even going to the traditional feast was because he worked with Hermione (she was his Ministry liaison and possibly his part-time lover as well), and thus was forced to keep in some sort of contact with the family. He and Bill had never had the closest of relationships, and Bill, at best, would mourn Percy as a loss of extra income for the family- Bill's job as a Gringott's archaeologist/ treasure hunter never earned very much, and Bill would most likely have to take some boring translation jobs to make up for Percy's lost contribution.

Of all his family, Charlie would miss him the most. He, like Percy, was disillusioned with the war, although Charlie coped by pretending that it didn't exist (after having dodged the draft), while Percy threw himself into the Order, which was not exactly under the jurisdiction of the Ministry. Charlie had also become Sirius' lover when Remus Lupin, the werewolf, died of lycanthropy. Sirius loved Charlie dearly, but there was no love lost between Percy and Sirius- Sirius was convinced that Percy was a Death Eater, his perspective perhaps a bit influenced by Peter Pettigrew's betrayal still over twenty years later. While Charlie might care enough to actually ask about a body- and, knowing Harry, one might actually be produced- Sirius' antagonism towards Percy ensured that Charlie would never really follow through in his investigation.

Fred and George still naively saw him as the pompous, arrogant git whom he had portrayed for so long- and Percy had been quite fine with continuing the illusion. They resented having to rely on the family- and Percy in particular- for money, and would, like Bill, see his death merely as an inconvenience, an annoyance at best. They would have to look somewhere else for cash, still brokenly trying, all these years to start up a joke shop when, quite frankly, there was no market for them during wartime. Percy had continually advised the twins to go into producing espionage gadgets for the war, but the twins had not, nor could not follow his advice, refusing to concede defeat.

It didn't matter to Percy what Ron thought- Ron had murdered Penelope, and Percy wasn't about to forget that. His baby brother, the master strategist who still had yet to lose at chess, had turned into a harsh, cruel enforcer of the Ministry's will. Although Percy's position had required him to work with the Aurors on many cases, Deputy Director Percy Weasley had maintained a professional if not a bit distant relationship with Major Ron Weasley. Luckily, since Percy outranked Ron, there was little Ron could do about it, and no one had ever questioned this quirk. It didn't matter to Percy that Ron didn't know that he knew. Ron had always loathed him anyway.

"Next, please." The calm, patient tone of the tired middle-aged airline employee put an abrupt end to his reverie. Blinking rapidly Percy…no, _Stephen_, quickly pulled his luggage to the counter. Mechanically, he answered the security questions, adopting a slight, lilting Dublin accent. He moved as if in a dream, stumbling from line to line, somehow unaware of the hustle and bustle around him. A part of him knew that it was foolish to intentionally remain ignorant of his surroundings, something that went against all his training and logic.

Nevertheless, he soon found himself seated in a cramped vomit-smelling airplane seat, feeling faintly nauseated by the stale pressurized air. Seeking to distract himself from what promised to be an extremely long trip to Rome, he unpacked his laptop as soon as the seat belt light went off and carefully maneuvered the device onto the tiny pull-down tray in front of him. He booted it up, quietly taking note of his fellow passengers. Without prompting, his computer then seemed to have connected with the Internet, and a chat box opened onscreen.

__

Knock, knock. The letters appeared in the chat box in a sparkling green, confirming, Percy knew, their magical origins- only the truth would appear in that captivating glowing shade of green, the exact same shade as Harry's vibrant emerald green eyes- and only to the intended reader of the words.

Awkwardly, Percy managed to peck a message into the keyboard, pressing each key slowly as he found it. _Who are you? _

The previous letters vanished and were replaced near-instantly with a new message. _Turn around and see for yourself. _

Incredulously, Percy typed out a response, this time faster. _Now? _

Yes. Six rows behind you, on the opposite side of the plane. Do it slowly. Nodding, Percy casually stood up and pretended to get something out of his back pocket. He froze. It was Oliver, his beautiful brown eyes watching Percy intently.

With a start, Percy sat down awkwardly, his joints stiff and unresponsive, returning his attention to the glowing notebook. _Olly? _Why was he so surprised to see him? He had known that he was going to see him. And yet, seeing him made Percy's heart race wildly, all cares forgotten. Smiling, he savored his brief glimpse of the delectable Oliver Wood. Yes, it had been worth it, if only for that sight.

Oliver's reply, however, rapidly returned Percy to reality. _It's Cranly, Edward Cranly for the duration of this flight. We're being watched. _Nodding to himself, Percy resisted the instinctual urge to look around.

He was typing faster now. _By whom? _

There was a pause, and then the words slowly appeared onscreen. _Justin Finch-Fletchey. _

Percy paused, his mind working fast to place the name. Justin had been a muggle-born Hufflepuff at Hogwarts in Harry's year. _Is he a member of the inner Order? _

The truth is, I really don't know. Inner Order membership isn't just written down on a piece of parchment for all to see, you know. You didn't even know I was Order until Harry told you a few minutes ago, probably. As far as I know, he's been attending the university since graduation from Hogwarts, with occasional courier work for an antique dealer in London. Percy suppressed a snort as he noted that Oliver knew a lot more about Justin than Justin's own classmates probably did.

That's a cover, Percy pronounced decisively, relying once more on his intuition. His Divinations professor had once said that he had the Sight. Was she correct? Percy would never know now, as Trelawney had been assassinated years ago. _It's no coincidence that he's on this flight. How many wizards use muggle air transportation? He's a spook, I'm positive. The question is, for whom does he work? _

Oliver's analysis matched Percy's. _Most likely our mutual boss. Since his return to the wizarding world, Harry has managed to build up a more extensive spy network than the Ministry. _

Harry's return. Percy abruptly stopped typing and closed his notebook as supper was rapidly served, his mind thinking back to Harry's sudden disappearance after his graduation. It had been as if he had vanished off of the face of the earth. Everyone had seen his muggle uncle drive off with him at the end of the year, but the trail had ended there. The muggle's memory had been wiped, and there was no way- muggle or magical- to find the Boy Who Lived. Even Dumbledore didn't seem to know where he had gone.

Voldemort had chosen that time to declare full-scale guerilla war, and a full third of the wizarding community had risen up in rebellion, prompting Minister Fudge to declare martial law and reinstate the draft. Despite this, life had gone on. Percy had been commissioned as a Colonel and been assigned to the Department of Magical Intelligence after completing Basic.

Then, on the anniversary of Harry's disappearance, the second big blow had struck. Percy had originally planned to marry Penelope in a small ceremony at Hogwarts, attended by only the Hogwarts staff and his closest friends and family. However, the Clearwaters, being muggle, would not even have been allowed to travel to Hogsmeade due to the wartime restriction. Because of this, Percy had unwittingly exposed Dumbledore to an assassin.

One minute he had been sitting at his reception on the roof of a fancy muggle hotel, listening to Dumbledore's toast, and the next thing he knew, Dumbledore's head abruptly ruptured, blowing brains and bone out the back of his head in a spray of crimson and gray gore. Slivers of the old wizard's skull and brains rained on Percy. Someone pushed him roughly into a scoop of mashed potatoes, then dragged him under the table as Dumbledore's body, its face now a mask with nothing behind it, fell heavily to the ground beside Percy.

Screams and oaths filled the rooftop. A dozen wands and one handgun abruptly appeared in the hands of the wedding guests as spectators ran for cover. Sputtering angrily in confusion and shock, Percy had looked at his attacker about to demand an explanation- only to notice a pale sandy-haired young man in a tux, staring defiantly back at him with Harry's deep green eyes. "There's a sniper in a nearby building," the enigmatic man had said neutrally, his eyes changing into sky blue. His face was as cold as a carving, his eyes shadowed and remote. His impassiveness, his refusal to register the slightest emotion, gave the stranger an aura of uncontrolled violence. "Stay here." And the man was gone.

The Aurors scanned the crowd, then the nearby buildings, looking for the sniper. They had heard nothing, no shot. And now they saw nothing. Both the sniper and the stranger had vanished without a trace.

That is, the stranger disappeared until the next new moon, when the members of the Order of the Phoenix had gathered at Hogwarts. The mysterious stranger had reappeared with a limp body in his arms, walking so quietly that the Order members only took note of this newcomer when the bound body landed with a soft thump onto the plush Persian rug. There had been a collective gasp as the members slowly recognized the stunning Asian girl as Cho Chang, a former Ravenclaw student. "Who are you, and what have you done to Miss Chang?" Professor McGonagall had asked, taking control of the situation.

"Miss Chang is the talented Death Eater sniper who assassinated Headmaster Dumbledore at Weasley's wedding from a distance of a thousand meters. I had quite a job tracking her, and even more of a job finding you blokes," the stranger said, his blond bangs sticking out haphazardly from his hooded black cloak. "As for Miss Chang, she is currently under heavy sedation and unlikely to wake soon. I thought you might like to question her." The fact that he had, in fact, succeeded in tracking down the Order was left unsaid.

"And who might you be?" asked Arthur, eyeing the stranger cautiously. The stranger couldn't be that much of a stranger, as only members of the Order could find and enter this most ancient and holy of rooms.

In a daze, Percy found himself speaking decisively from his position at the other side of the room, feeling a bit like Trelawney receiving a true vision. He recognized, somehow, that familiar sparkle in the stranger's shadowed blue eyes. "Don't you recognize him? He is Harry Potter." A collective gasp was heard once again, but Percy held his ground, staring unflinchingly at the Order.

The stranger's sparkling blue eyes flashed a brilliant green, clearly recognizable as Harry's eyes. "You surprise me, Percy. You are more perceptive than people often mistake you for."

Whatever else Harry had been about to say was interrupted when Ron abruptly threw himself at Harry. "You lousy git! You have a lot of nerve, don't you? How dare you go about, claiming my best friend's name?" Percy's little brother stopped suddenly, effectively silenced and frozen midair as Harry raised his hand and pointed his palm at Ron.

Hermione screamed. "What did you do to him?" Percy had to admit it was a bit unnerving. When Harry had graduated from Hogwarts, he had only been able to do simple wandless magic. Now, it seemed, his powers had greatly increased.

Harry looked at his other best friend, his pale features gradually darkening to his real appearance. "I just froze him, Mione. He's fine."

She let out a small gasp as she saw Harry's real features. "Harry? Is it really you?" She moved forward hesitantly towards him.

Suddenly, the clock struck midnight, and all heads had abruptly turned to the open window, waiting for the arrival of Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix. This appearance was especially important because tonight, Fawkes would be choosing Dumbledore's successor as Key. Not surprisingly, the Phoenix flew straight to Harry's shoulder. Immediately, the Order members had dropped to their knees, bowing their heads respectfully to their new leader. If there had been any doubt left in anyone's minds, Fawkes' selection had proved without question that the stranger was Harry.

Harry soon proved that he was not unfamiliar with leadership, or the current operations of the Order. "Rise," he commanded, taking a place at the round stone table in the room as Ron dropped gracelessly behind him. "This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix is now convened. Last night, we made a mistake in operational security, and that mistake cost many people, wizards and muggles, their lives. This time, we shall not fail."

Percy gripped his fork tightly, then looked down and noticed that his food was gone. He had eaten the tasteless food entirely without conscious thought. No, he thought, putting the fork down, Harry had ensured that they would not fail. Upon Harry's return, Percy had gone through an intensive training at Hereford, headquarters of the British Army's 22nd Special Air Service Regiment. The SAS, of course, was the muggle world's foremost special operations agency. How, Percy wondered, was Harry able to get them trained there? It had been before Percy had been properly trained up as an agent, so uncovering his identity would have been easy. So, someone within the SAS knew exactly who they were training, and still provided it. What was in it for them? He was not so naïve as to believe that the British military was simply being generous. Like any government organization, they selfishly kept their secrets close – at times, not even cooperating with their fellow agencies. There had been some hidden string attached, then. Harry must have made an agreement. Percy's mind flashed back to his training. He had had to sign a bunch of waivers. Recalling them to his mind one by one, he carefully examined the bureaucratese for the catch.

He snapped his eyes open as the flight attendant cleared his empty tray. He had signed a contract. Harry had made an agreement with the SAS. Training for service, a clear-cut trade. The SAS had allowed Harry the agent training he needed to put his plan into play, then, Harry would return those same agents to work for the SAS. Thus, he deduced, Justin was their SAS contact. That made sense. Justin had been a Hufflepuff, which meant he was loyal. Ordinarily, that would mean Justin was loyal to the Ministry. However, being muggle-born, Justin's ultimate loyalty was to his country and his queen. "Fuck," muttered Percy, quite uncharacteristically. "Looks like I won't be getting that much of a holiday after all." Frowning slightly, he turned his laptop back on and explained to Oliver his deductions.

_Nice deductions. _His love replied as they fell back into the rapid give-and-take analysis that had often characterized their conversations at Hogwarts. _But there's a rather gaping hole in your theory. How was Harry recruited into SAS? Is this whole operation SAS? Who is pulling the strings here? Harry? The SAS? And why on earth would Harry pull us out of our covers? _

Percy chewed his lip thoughtfully. _I think the problem is that everyone who's ever investigated Harry's disappearance has focused on the wrong day. We all think he vanished the day after graduation. Well, what if that wasn't the first time he vanished? _

There was a pause, then Oliver replied uncertainly. _What do you mean? I'm not tracking you. _

Think about how Harry spent his summers away from Hogwarts. After the Triwizard Tournament, he went completely incommunicado from the wizarding world. Not even his Hogwarts owl could find him to give him his prefect badge. And yet he showed up at King's Cross as if nothing had happened. What if that was when he was recruited? I remember Ron telling me about the DADA professor- he was the only one to last more than a year. Professor Pierson lasted three years, to be exact. Just long enough to be there to train Harry. He could have continued Harry's training at Hogwarts, all under Dumbledore's nose. Percy frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration. Who was Adam Pierson, exactly? No one had ever managed to find out anything substantial about him, and he had left unnoticed after his three years were up. Curious, the redhead began to run a muggle search for the former professor on his laptop.

Meanwhile, Oliver had focused his speculation on a different person. _You don't think Dumbledore was involved in all this, then? _

No. He would have wanted Harry trained up within the Order. That's how I received my training. No, I'm very certain that Dumbledore did not know about this bit of Harry's extracurricular activities. Harry, if I remember correctly, also began his Order training at that time along with Ron and Hermione. Percy tapped his foot impatiently, silently willing the search to go faster.

That's impossible. I remember your Order training took place at night. He would have had no time. 

Percy's interested was perked by this comment. _Wait, time. That's the key word. He must have used a time turner. It isn't like he needs much sleep at night. But Ron or Hermione would have noticed- do you think they were involved in this SAS business? _

Possibly. Hermione's definitely smart enough. We'll know soon enough, anyway. Harry must have pulled us out of the country to put his plan into effect. Merlin knows he's been setting it up long enough. Do you know what it is? 

The search yielded results. _No idea. However, you may be interested in what I found. Adam Pierson is currently working in the muggle world. _

What? I thought he was a pureblood. 

He still might be, but he seems to know more than enough about the muggle world. He's a professor of history at the University of Seacouver. 

Where in the world is that? Sounds like some awful North American edge city. 

Yes, that's exactly what it is. It's a medium-sized city in the state of Washington. The question is, what would an SAS instructor be doing teaching history of all things? 

_I don't know. _There was an awkward pause as Oliver seemed to be thinking.

The captain's voice came over the PA system, announcing their arrival in Rome. More words appeared on Percy's screen. _I think Justin's appearance throws my whole plan out of the window, so to speak. Shall we simply confront him after we get off of the plane? _

Agreed. Percy sighed, turned his laptop off, and packed it away, lost in his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, he could never leave it behind. While he felt a tinge of resentment towards Harry for tricking him, he realized that he shouldn't have been that naïve. What had he been thinking? Did he ever truly believe that he could simply get on a plane and walk away from it all? There were always strings attached, always another twist in the story. In this case, that meant he was still trapped in this never-ending tournament of shadows. He could never escape. He could never fly free of these nets. The truth of the matter was, he was still a slave.


	3. Enter Adam

Title: Enter Adam

Author: Iphigenia

Email: SharLee224@aol.com

Pairings: Oliver/Percy

Spoilers: the first four books

Rating: R for language, sexuality, and gore

Improv: #13 trunk- master- elastic- cover

Sequel Info: Part of an unfinished but continually updated series, entitled, "A Portrait of the Wizard as a Young Man."

Summary: In the eternal city of Rome, Oliver, Percy, and Justin discover their roles in a never-ending battle.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Note: Following the episode, "Flying Free of the Nets," this series includes a slight crossover with Highlander: the Series. Although the concept of Immortality will be explained in later episodes, it may be helpful for the reader to go to any Highlander web page for a quick explanation. However, no prior knowledge of the Highlander series is required.

The taped conversation between Tancredi and Padway is from L. Sprague de Camp's Lest Darkness Fall. New York: Ballantine Books, 1939. Pages 1-2.

Not in the same universe as "Blame It on the Dance." The Hotel Splendide Royal is an actual hotel in Rome. Thanks to my wonderful betas, Angela, Faded Lush, and Teague. Enjoy!

Room 136, Hotel Splendide Royal, Rome

Local time: 600 hours

The tan, almost-lanky young man with soft brown eyes to match his short curly hair awoke to the familiar cool touch of metal on his wrists and ankles, as well as the equally familiar throb of a headache.

Coffee- he needed coffee. Groggily, he identified the metal restraints as basic uncharmed muggle handcuffs and willed his body not to react. So, he mused, Percy and Oliver were not taking any chances with him- Harry had trained them well in the art of interrogation.

Had Justin not been so fond of being tied up in the buff, this technique would probably have disoriented him quite a bit. As it was, he was actually quite comfortable; he pretended to remain asleep. That is, until a large amount of icy-cold water splashed suddenly on his face, causing him to sputter in a rather undignified way. He shook his head from side to side, feigning disorientation.

"Come off it, Finch-Fletchey," Oliver Wood's voice said, apparently having regained traces of, in Justin's opinion, a rather charming though intimidating Scottish brogue. "We know you're awake. Stop faking and have at it. Who are you working for? Tell me the name of your master." Master, Justin thought, was being a little over-the-top. The only megalomaniac who demanded his underlings call him Master was dead.

Justin wiped his wet face awkwardly against his shoulder, then cautiously opened his eyes and saw the two of them standing there expectantly in muggle clothes, the sun streaming in from the window to the side. He smiled wanly, smelling sex in the air. They were together again, as they should be. Before he could think anything else, however, he found himself obeying Oliver's order: "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix." Cursing silently, he realized that he must have been injected with some obedience or truth serum while asleep. While Justin had planned on telling them the truth, he didn't want to tell them all of the truth. Well, he thought, coughing to delay further questioning, the serum, whatever it was, would pass through his body soon enough. At their questioning glances, he elaborated his Order membership by stating the current level five code word- "Elastic?" he asked hopefully.

They grinned, sharing somewhat of an inside joke. "Elastic!" came the enthusiastic response. His membership in the Order's Inner Circle prompted Percy to unlock Justin's restraints, give him something to cover himself, and motion him to a small wooden table neatly laid out with breakfast for three. Justin pulled on his boxers and tee, nodded his head in thanks, and sat down, pouring coffee for them. Giving Justin coffee was a sign of trust, since coffee actually inhibited the effects of both types of serum to some extent. Good, thought Justin, calculating rapidly that the serum (assuming a standard interrogation dose, regular coffee, and his body's unique endocrine system) would pass through his body in about six minutes- a very fast recovery rate, considering the average dose was supposed to last a full half hour. Still, he berated himself for not anticipating this technique.

Percy smiled as Justin carefully (and slowly) spooned three scoops of sugar into Oliver's cup, which was emblazoned with speeding Quaffles. "You've done your homework, I see," he said, accepting his own flying Snitch theme cup with only one scoop of sugar. "So, tell us, Justin. Why did Harry want us out of Britain?" Clearly, Percy didn't believe in meaningless small talk. "What the hell is going on?"

Coughing in surprise, Justin took a moment to reevaluate the youthful Deputy Director, who returned his stare with an unflinching blue gaze. Justin swallowed nervously, then the serum kicked in. "The war is already won," he said, attempting to resist the serum by being oblique as possible.

Oliver and Percy looked at each other, twin looks of confusion on their faces. "What?" they asked in unison.

Justin put down his Bludger theme cup and looked at them intently, praying that they had adequately swept the room for surveillance. The serum spoke, more rapidly now, beyond resistance: "You heard me correctly. The war is already won. Approximately one week ago, a carefully planted campaign of misinformation, together with an unexpected betrayal by the wizarding yakuza in Japan, led to an internal coup within the Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy killed Voldemort…"

Percy cut him off, dropping his cup onto the plush carpet. "The Dark Lord is dead?" he asked, surprised. Oliver looked similarly stunned and the cup lay there, the coffee staining the carpet.

Justin nodded in the affirmative and continued, allowing the serum to flow through him and guide his words. He spoke quickly, stumbling through his explanation. "Yes, I said that. Malfoy- Draco, that is- decapitated him, with, err, a large sword. In any case, the coup is the reason there has been a total Death Eater information blackout the past few days. The Ministry has no idea what has happened within the Death Eaters. Although our intelligence tells us that Ginny Weasley managed to escape with a few loyal followers to Ireland, the majority of the Death Eaters are now under Pansy Parkinson's control." Finally finishing, he sighed in relief and studied the pair for a reaction.

Not surprisingly, there was little, if any, reaction. Both young men were trained intelligence officers, after all. Oliver poured Percy another cup, then turned back to Justin. "Pansy?" he asked, his voice fairly even for such a big revelation. "What the bloody fuck happened to Draco?" Draco Malfoy had been the Dark Lord's trusted second-in-command when Oliver had been extracted from his cover about six months ago.

The serum inundated his senses, and Justin had to work a bit to remain alert. He wanted to remember every bit of what he revealed. "He vanished in the chaos that followed Voldemort's demise. Nobody has seen him since. Adam then ordered Oliver to send the letter to Percy…" He bit his tongue, painfully attempting to avoid talking about Immortals. He looked wildly about the room for his wand.

Luckily, Percy once again interrupted Justin. "You were ordered to send that? Who the bloody hell is Adam, Oliver?" he demanded, looking jealously at Oliver, pouting. The question was directed at Oliver, so Justin was free for the moment. In this distraction, Justin made another visual scan of the room. Yes, he thought triumphantly, sighting his wand lying in plain sight on the dresser. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the pair, who were still caught up in the uncertainty of a recently renewed relationship.

The formerly badass Death Eater spy flinched. "Yes, I was ordered to send that. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier. Adam is my mentor." Justin heard Oliver audibly sigh as he clearly realized an explanation for Immortals would be needed.

"What?" Percy asked, confused once again. He looked really cute when he was puzzled. Much better, in fact, than the smug, knowing look that often crossed his face. Justin resolved to keep Percy as puzzled as possible.

Nevertheless, Percy's question did prompt the serum to begin to answer. Catlike, Oliver jumped at Justin and covered Justin's mouth forcefully with his hand, preventing Justin from answering. "Don't answer that," he ordered Justin. "We'll tell you in a minute, Perce. Justin, what I want to know is why Adam wanted Percy out of Britain." Oliver's dark brown eyes glared at Justin suspiciously as he released his mouth.

Justin rubbed his jaw, then spoke, again very quickly. The serum moved his mouth, forcing him to answer still. "Because Harry has been quietly manipulating Percy's brother Bill and Hermione not only into their current sexual relationship, but also into planning and executing a coup against the Ministry of Magic. Like the Death Eater coup, this coup was based on the usual formula: misinformation, lies, and deceit. Even if they knew about Draco's coup, the Ministry would still be unwilling to negotiate with the Death Eaters. In order to bring about peace, both sides had to go. This was the only way to save Britain. You've got to see that. Naturally, Harry wanted to prevent Percy from getting caught up in the ensuing chaos." Chaos, Justin knew, which would include the imprisonment and possible deaths of many prominent Ministry officials. He frowned slightly as he realized that Percy's father, Arthur, and brother, Ron, would be caught up in it, a fact which Percy surely would realize.

Percy gaped in shock, clearly horrified by the news of violent revolution within the Ministry- the very bastion of stability for hundreds of years. Or perhaps at the dark revelation that Harry had been behind such a cunning, manipulative, and downright Slytherin conspiracy. A shadow crossed his eyes as he assimilated this information. Recovering himself, he narrowed his eyes skeptically. "Wait a second. You expected no one to even notice, when the dust settles, that there have been two coups in a comparatively short amount of time? Won't that seem the least bit suspicious? I know coups are rare in the wizarding world, but the muggle-born should be cynical enough to sniff out this plot. Like Hermione, for instance." Percy's acute analytical skills had not been overstated. He had put aside his own personal questions- like, for instance, why Harry's supposed best friend Ron had been so carefully left out of this plot- and objections in order to identify the plot's main weakness in a matter of mere seconds.

The serum continued to spew forth information, taking it from Justin's mind and controlling his voice. "Oh, we've covered that eventuality already, Percy. Hermione is level five, too. She's agreed to pretend she was behind the plot 'for the good of wizarding kind' or some trash like that. We've already produced false documentation to that effect. No one need ever know who was really behind it. Don't forget, as far as the wizarding public is concerned, Harry Potter is still missing and the Inner Circle doesn't exist. The public knows nothing," said Justin, watching the clock anxiously. A few more seconds, and the serum would be neutralized. And this ridiculous interrogation would be over with, at least for Justin. While he understood their actions to be necessary and prudent- he would have done no less had he been them- serums like that were not pleasant at all. Even Hufflepuffs, Justin thought, are entitled to feel grumpy after serum-enhanced interrogations.

Suddenly, Oliver and Justin clutched their heads and looked sharply at the door, instantly identifying the presence of another Immortal. A sharp knock sounded lightly at the door. "Who is it?" asked Justin, hastily grabbing his wand and covering the door. Serum or not, he wasn't about to appear defenseless against a possible threat.

It was Adam Pierson. "For God's sake, Justin, leave me a bloody note next time. How the hell was I supposed to know you were going to approach them this soon? I went around nearly all the city of Rome looking for you," an impatient British voice, easily identifiable as Adam's, yelled from behind the door.

Justin opened the door, admitting a tall dark-haired man with a prominent nose and cheekbones into the room. "Well," Justin snapped, rather peevish. "It's not as though I had much of a choice in the matter. I woke up here." Percy coughed unobtrusively, reminding Justin of his audience. "Percy," the former Hufflepuff said, turning towards Percy. "This is Adam Pierson. He's also level five." The whole Order level thing, Justin thought, was a joke. There were really only two levels- Inner Circle and the rest of the Order. Levels one through four merely existed to give the others a sense of accomplishment and seniority.

The man called Adam greeted Justin briefly with a nod, then turned towards Oliver and Percy, his pale green eyes instantly analyzing and assessing Oliver's slightly rumpled condition. He smiled casually at Oliver, then moved his searching gaze to Percy, who blushed under the close scrutiny. "I see you two had quite a bit of catching up to do last night," Adam said, making himself at home in a nearby chair. "Pleased to meet you, Percy." He held out a rough, callused hand.

They shook hands awkwardly. Adam's arrival had turned the surprisingly casual interrogation atmosphere into the stuffy formality of a corporate business meeting. "No," Percy said, mechanically falling back on the conventions of society. "The pleasure is mine. Coffee? Tea?" He smiled, mask firmly in place. Justin rolled his eyes- Deputy Director Percy was back in business, a shallow mockery of the person with whom he had just been conversing.

The offer of coffee was greeted with a serious nod. "Coffee, please," Adam said, rolling up his left sleeve. "Black."

Having already anticipated Adam's request, Justin handed Adam a steaming mug of fresh Italian roast (no Quidditch theme on this cup), smiling as he saw Percy try to surreptitiously check Adam's wrist for a Dark Mark. Instead, Adam pulled a hunting knife out of his pants and proceeded to carefully cut deeply into his unmarred forearm. He pressed firmly as the sharp steel blade pierced his skin, letting his fresh blood flow onto the table.

"What are you doing?" cried Percy, alarmed, the mask slipping. "Are you a bloody masochist or merely suicidal?"

Adam merely nodded perversely and continued to cut intently. "Justin," he said, gritting his teeth in pain. "You can Accio the trunk out of my arm any day now! Preferably before my arm heals itself." Already blue sparks were beginning to lance across his self-inflicted wound.

Justin quickly jumped up and waved his wand wildly. "Accio trunk!" he called hastily. A small object, roughly the size of a marble, came flying rapidly at Justin, who, surprised at its speed, ducked. "Somebody please please please catch it!" he pleaded, wincing at his clumsiness.

The peculiar, marble-sized object would have continued along its trajectory had Oliver not reached out and grabbed the bloody thing mid-air, displaying his still-terrific Quidditch skills. "Eww!" he cried, realizing what he was grasping in his palm.

"Oh!" Justin said, grabbing Oliver's hand. "Let me see that." Obediently, Oliver unclenched his fist. Justin aimed his wand carefully at the object. "Engorgio." The object began to rapidly enlarge, causing Oliver to drop it rather suddenly on the carpet. What appeared to be a very bloody trunk, surrounded by a clear plasticky bubble, continued to grow until it was approximately the size of a small clothes trunk.

"Oh!" echoed Percy, quite shocked by the whole spectacle. He glanced at Adam and noticed that the cut had healed, but seemed content to hold on the questions. "Oh my." Percy, turning extremely pale, seemed shocked into silence.

"Fuck," said Oliver, a little less delicately. "You smuggled a fucking trunk out of somewhere in your bleeding arm? Are you crazy, man?" he asked, his Scottish brogue reappearing in full force.

"Actually," remarked Adam, coolly washing his arm and then the carpet with a wandless cleansing charm. "I'm not bleeding anymore, as you well know. And you would be surprised at the level of security at the Vatican Archives. I had to dust off one of Darius' old identities in order to gain access. In any event here it is." Trust Adam, thought Justin, to act as if nothing was amiss.

Luckily, that meant that Percy was once again befuddled. The adorably confused look reappeared. "Here what is?" he asked, poking hesitantly at the bubble with his finger.

Adam tapped the bubble with his wand, which had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. "Yesterday, Roger Davies- your former roommate, I believe, Oliver- was sighted here in Rome doing some research at the Vatican, apparently acting on orders from Ginny. Using a time turner, I simply went back in time to shadow him and copy whatever she investigated." The bubble disappeared with a loud pop. "Alohomora!" The trunk popped open.

Percy visibly stiffened at the mention of a time turner. "Isn't unauthorized use of time turners slightly, well, illegal?" he inquired, looking as if he was about to spew out all the rules and restrictions concerning time travel.

Oliver visibly rolled his eyes. "This is Rome," he reminded Percy. "Magic is illegal." He grinned roguishly and, waving his wand, cleared the table with a dramatic flourish.

Justin smiled as the Quidditch-theme cups zoomed around the room and winked out of existence. "Indeed. So, what did you collect?" he asked, sitting down at the table. Percy and Oliver followed suit.

Adam reached down into the trunk. "That's the odd thing. Roger seemed to be interested in two muggles- an Italian professor named Tancredi, and an American doctoral candidate named Martin Padway," he said, still digging through the trunk.

"Who?" Oliver asked. "Never heard of them. They're not very famous, I suppose."

Chucking slightly, Adam shook his head. "No. I ran a basic search-and-retrieve spell on everything in the archives relating to both of them and all I got were some basic legal papers, a large police file, and some cassette tapes." As he spoke, he took the police file and a tape out of the trunk and placed them on the table.

Both Percy and Oliver, having never seen an audiocassette, peered at the tape curiously. "Huh?" they asked in unison, looking doubtfully at the object.

Adam consulted a battered spiral notebook filled with cramped, indecipherable notes. "It appears to be a surveillance tape from the spring of 1934. The highly sophisticated intelligence branch of the Swiss Guard was watching Professor Tancredi. They recorded this brief conversation, which appears to have taken place in a car," he said, skimming his notes until he found the part he wanted.

"What's on it?" Justin asked, impatiently tapping his foot.

"Listen," Adam commanded, tapping the tape gently with his wand. The tape glowed blue, floating midair as the magnetic tape began to wind. 

Over the numerous tape distortions, a man with a neutral Midwestern American accent- probably Padway- was talking. "You were talking about Etruscan inscriptions, and then about the nature of time, and then about Roman archareol..." The American was cut off by a sudden cacophony of horns blaring and brakes screeching to a halt.

A thickly accented but intelligible Italian accent – that was probably Tancredi- interrupted the American. "Ah, yes, the nature of time. This is just a silly idea of mine, you understand. I was saying all these people who just disappear, they have slipped back down the suitcase," the Italian said, apparently unperturbed by the muffled curses and profanities punctuating his words.

"The what?" asked Padway, sounding rather confused. Indeed, Justin mused, this was a rather bewildering conversation. He winced as another automobile suddenly and loudly screeched to a sudden halt.

Professor Tancredi clarified. "The trunk, I mean. The trunk of the tree of time. When they stop slipping, they are back in some former time. But as soon as they do anything, they change all subsequent history." Suddenly, it became clear to Justin as to the significance of the tape. Frantically, he flipped through the police file- a missing person's report, reporting the public disappearance of Padway seconds after this conversation, then Tancredi's interrogation records. Padway had simply vanished into thin air. The only witness, Tancredi, had been convinced that he had fallen down this trunk of time. The officials had dismissed the professor's claims as wildly ludicrous. But why had Roger Davies researched this random nutcase? Because, Justin realized, someone, probably Ginny, thought that there was some merit to the Professor's theory. Time travel. Ginny's intentions were clear. She was trying to go back in time.

On the tape, Padway had found a problem with the theory. "Sounds like a paradox."

Justin could almost see Tancredi shake his head emphatically. "No-o. The trunk continues to exist. But a new branch starts out where they come to rest. It has to otherwise we would all disappear, because history would have changed and our parents might not have met." Justin narrowed his eyes, dismissing the Italian man's conclusion. These were muggles; according to Merlin's famous law of magical time travel, there was only one true timeline- everything else was mere illusion. Time travel remained possible, however, because travelers affected the timeline in such a way that no one noticed. Thus, if Ginny traveled back in time, the present would suddenly adjust to that reality without anyone noticing.

Meanwhile, the two men on the tape were still working without knowledge of Merlin's well-known law. "That's a thought. It's bad enough knowing the sun might become a nova, but if we're also likely to vanish because somebody has gone back to the twelfth century and stirred things up...." speculated Padway. On the other hand, Justin thought, if a time traveler did prevent the birth of someone, that person would never know it.

Tancredi even had an explanation for his incorrect conclusion. "No. That has never happened. We have never vanished, that is. You see, doc-tor? We continue to exist, but another history has been started. Perhaps there are many such, all existing somewhere. Maybe, they aren't much different from ours. Maybe the man comes to rest in the middle of the ocean. So what? The fish eat him, and things go on as before. Or they think he is mad, and shut him up or kill him. Again, not much difference. But suppose he becomes a king or a duce? What then?" Justin rolled his eyes, dismissing these speculations. 

Tancredi continued happily, ignorant of Justin's objections. "Presto, we have a new history! History is a four-dimensional web. It is a tough web. But it has its weak points. The junction places- the focal points, one might say- are weak. The backslipping, if it happens, would happen at these places." Here was the important part of the conversation. The real merit lay in Tancredi's apparent independent discovery of ley lines- the last known solid knowledge on ley lines, the mythical keys to time travel, had been lost millennia ago. If Padway had indeed gone back in time through one of these places, then Ginny's interest in the case was the location of the junction, not possible alternate universes. If she could locate this spot by tracking Padway's last known location, she could possibly reactivate the spot and use dark magic to guide her to the correct time.

"What do you mean by focal points?" asked Padway, sounding skeptical.

"Oh, places like Rome, where the world-lines of many famous events intersect. Or Istanbul. Or Babylon. You remember that archeologist, Skrzetuski, who disappeared at Babylon in 1936?" asked Tancredi. Justin made a mental note to check up on Skretuski's last known location in Babylon.

"I though he was killed by some Arab holdup men," said Padway, clearly skeptical.

The Italian sounded almost triumphant. "Ah. They never found his body! Now Rome may soon again be the intersection point of great events. That means the web is weakening again here." So, thought Justin, the focal point changes. That meant Ginny would have to track the focal point to its active spot. Where, wondered Justin, was it now?

"I hope they don't bomb the Forum," worried Padway. Adam held up a piece of paper with a smiley face. _Incidentally, _he had written, _the Forum was bombed during the war._

Tancredi dismissed the notion. "Oh, nothing like that. There will be no more great wars; everybody knows it is too dangerous. But let us not talk politics. The web, as I say, is tough. If a man did slip back, it would take a terrible lot of work to distort it. Like a fly in a spider web that fills a room." There was more distortion, and then the tape cut off suddenly as Adam tapped it again with his wand.

The four wizards eyed each other soberly, coming to similar conclusions. Legend had it that a group of ancient Egyptians had mastered time travel thousands of years ago and used simple time turners to alter the near past (within a day). Recognizing the dangers inherent in true time travel, however, they had destroyed all knowledge of the theory behind it- even going so far as to obliviate it from their memories. Although only basic one-day time turners survived the Dark Ages, it now appeared that a mere muggle had possibly rediscovered true time travel. It was grasping wildly at threads, but they couldn't afford to let Ginny's forces continue their research if there was any chance of success.

Justin rubbed his eyes tiredly, as their mission became clear. They were going to preserve the timeline. "Fuck."


	4. Holy Ground

Title: Holy Ground

Author: Iella (also known as Iphigenia)

Email: sdlee8@cox.net

Pairing: Oliver/Percy

Spoilers: the first four books

Rating: R

Sequel Info: Part of a series, entitled, ÒA Portrait of the Wizard as a Young Man.Ó

Summary: Oliver and Percy visit the ruins of an ancient Roman temple and re-enact a dark ritual. Then something goes wrong.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Note: Following the episode, ÒEnter Adam,Ó this series includes a slight crossover with Highlander: the Series. Although the concept of Immortality will be explained in this episode, it may be helpful for the reader to go to any Highlander web page for an alternate explanation. However, no prior knowledge of the Highlander series is required.

Sanctuary of Fortuna Primigenia, Palestrina (in the foothills of the Apennines east of Rome)

Local time: 2000 hours

The materials had been hastily assembled- water, a stone basin, oil, charcoal, wax, incense, and an aging yellowed Vulgate Bible. Adam had even managed to ÒborrowÓ a few saintsÕ relics from somewhere- Percy really didnÕt want to know where the former Muggle Studies professor had found a piece of Saint GeorgeÕs skull. The altar room had been carefully sealed off with muggle-repelling charms whispered hurriedly in the moonlit darkness, separating the two robed wizards from the distant din of the nearby muggle settlement. Now all that remained were the terrible rituals themselves, magic so old and dark the very knowledge of it ate at PercyÕs soul, corrupting him with its black magic. He closed his eyes, the complicated parts of the divination ritual playing out unbidden in his head. There were three parts to the forgotten rite, mocking the three parts of the Trinity. First came the blessing of the room, both a consecration in the Catholic religion and a violation of Fortuna, the ancient Etruscan mother deity called Fate. This was the balancing element of the ceremony, the unlikely paradox of creation and destruction. It also indicated the nature of the seerÕs question. Because desecration was the primary theme of the overall ritual, it called upon Fortuna to show the seer the way to balance. The second violation was the spilling of human blood on holy ground, emphasizing both the presence of violence and the comprehension of sacrifice. The last part was the ultimate defilement- sex on the altar itself. This was both to provoke an immediate and relevant response, as well as, more practically, to supply the primal energy needed to release the vision. Then Percy, as the closest thing to a Seer they could find on such short notice, would experience the darkness.

The darkness called and beckoned for Percy more than ever before, whispering its sweet temptations of power to him. Would he pass the test? Would he be able to turn down the power offered by the darkness? He had to. Everyone was counting on him to withstand the darkness and emerge with the information. But secretly, he doubted. He was not the great Harry Potter or the late Albus Dumbledore. Yet he could not flee, could not forget his duty. He had sworn his life to the Order, and he would carry out his mission.

So Percy watched, oddly fascinated, as Oliver- as a former Death Eater, his partner knew far more than Percy about dark magic- carefully poured the water into the basin. ÒOkay, weÕre alone,Ó the redhead said impatiently, filling the tense, anticipatory silence with blunt words. ÒNo one followed us. Now talk. I want an explanation, and it better be good.Ó

Oliver sat on the ground, crossing his legs and glancing nervously at the bright, fluorescent digital alarm clock, which glowed brightly in the semi-darkness of the full moon. ÒI canÕt explain it,Ó he said slowly. ÒI donÕt know it all. In fact, I donÕt think anyone knows it all.Ó

ÒTell me what you know then,Ó said Percy softly, sitting down next to Oliver, trying desperately to get a read on his partner.

The Scot stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his loverÕs eyes. He spoke coldly and unemotionally, as if under veritaserum. ÒFor me, it started six months ago. When Ginny saw me kissing you during the Hogwarts attack, it ended up blowing my cover. Draco had to help Snape and I make a hasty getaway.Ó

The initial surprise Percy felt at the confirmation of the kiss flared, then was pushed to the back of his mind, neatly filed for later contemplation. His trained analyst mind took over, noting that OliverÕs account explained the apparent confusion shortly after the Hogwarts attack. The Death Eaters hadnÕt known SnapeÕs location either. ÒYouÕre telling me Draco Malfoy is Inner Circle as well?Ó asked Percy, trying to hide his shock. Nothing Ministry Intelligence had ever intercepted had suggested this possibility. Draco Malfoy had been the perfect head of Death Eater Intelligence, a formidable opponent for the Ministry. In fact, Ministry spies had only confirmed his position last year.

There was a pause, then a slight, almost imperceptible nod. ÒYes. He used the proper code words before turning my cigarette into a Port key,Ó said Oliver, studiously looking everywhere but at Percy.

ÒSince when do you smoke?Ó asked Percy, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Oliver had been a fanatical Quidditch player, obsessed with maintaining his health for the sport. At Hogwarts, he didnÕt smoke, didnÕt do muggle drugs, and only drank in strict moderation.

Oliver hung his head guiltily. ÒPlease donÕt lecture me on that, Percy. IÕm trying to explain. Anyway, because Draco had to Port key us out of there rather hastily, we ended up being sent to the one person whom Draco could trust to take care of us- Adam Pierson.Ó

Percy blinked, his facial expressions more fully under control now. ÒWhy not Harry?Ó Surely, if Draco were Inner Circle, he would know that he could trust Harry Potter.

A shrug- the question had clearly been expected. ÒSnape had location charms on him which had to be removed. Harry has been working on a number of projects, and Draco probably didnÕt want to risk HarryÕs cover.Ó

The Deputy Director of Intelligence- or former Deputy Director by now- nodded, agreeing with the logic. ÒWhat about your Dark Marks?Ó This had been a major stumbling block for the Ministry of Magic in recruiting spies within the Death Eaters. After a few tragedies- namely, the brutal torture and publicly aired executions of would-be traitors Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil- the Ministry had discovered that the Dark Mark also acted as a tracking device, allowing Death Eater Intelligence to track their membersÕ movements. Obviously, this had severely limited their ability to infiltrate the Òrebels.Ó

Oliver hesitated, and then nodded. ÒYes, that had to be neutralized as well.Ó

The redhead frowned. ÒYou canÕt neutralize it. Ministry Intelligence tried. The Dark Mark only stops working when the subject dies or is moved out of range.Ó He winced, remembering how they had figured out that particular detail.

Abruptly, Oliver turned and looked at Percy, his intense dark eyes gazing into Percy. ÒI know. Severus was sent out of range- to Japan, I think. I died,Ó he asserted in a calm, clear voice. He paused, waiting for a reaction

For a while, Percy could only gape like a fish out of water, unable to speak. His rationale screamed in protest, denying OliverÕs words with a library of medical and magical facts listing why Oliver could not possibly have died. And yet OliverÕs very existence contradicted all Percy knew about the Dark Mark. That queer feeling of assurance- the sensitivity, perhaps, that made him the closest thing the Order had to a Seer- rose up within him, quelling his doubts. Oliver was telling the truth, of that Percy was absolutely certain. Finally, he spoke. ÒWait, back up. I thought you just said you died. You seem to be remarkably alive for a dead man.Ó

Oliver smiled slightly, clearly relieved with PercyÕs cautious acceptance. ÒYou heard me correctly. Adam killed me in order to neutralize the Dark Mark. ThatÕs what IÕve been trying to get at- Immortals. ÔThere are those who walk amongst usÉÓ

Percy completed the sentence almost immediately without thought. ÒÉWho cannot die.Õ I believe that quote was about vampires.Ó He looked at Oliver nervously, wondering if he misjudged. Perhaps, he thought in a rising panic, Adam and Justin had not been entirely honest about the exact details of the ritual.

His partner seemed unaware of PercyÕs concern. ÒDo they really walk amongst us, I wonder?Ó he asked, oddly pensive. ÒThey hunt us and prey on us. No, I think the quote more aptly applies to Immortals. Immortals, Percy, are a group of people, men and women, who are extremely hard to kill.Ó

The thought of a certain green-eyed Key came immediately to mind. ÒWait, let me guess: Harry Potter is Immortal on top of it all,Ó Percy groaned. Harry Potter was already connected somehow with every major prophecy set to occur in this century. It would not surprise Percy in the least bit if the enigmatic young mage were Immortal as well.

Dark brows furrowed in thought. ÒActually,Ó speculated Oliver, ÒthereÕs a very good possibility that that is true. It would certainly explain why heÕs not dead yet, what with all the trouble he gets into. On the other hand, Immortals are all foundlings- this would probably rule Harry out, as he most certainly had parents. But I digress. Immortals grow up and are quite ordinary people, if not sterile, until they die their first death. A violent death will activate oneÕs immortality, I think. Then they wake up and see just how far down the rabbit hole really goes. Immortality gives one the expected benefits- eternal youth, supernatural healing powers, etc.- but it also comes with a few catches.Ó

PercyÕs analyst self carefully memorized OliverÕs words, committing them to his mental database. ÒWhich are?Ó he prompted, forcing himself to remain detached from the situation.

OliverÕs chocolate eyes continued to study Percy with unrelenting intensity. ÒWell, I think I mentioned the sterility thing- no children. The other catch is that there can be only One.Ó

ÒOne what?Ó asked Percy, confused.

He was rewarded with an enthusiastic grin. ÒExactly what I said! You see, Immortals are not really immortal in the literal sense of the word. They can indeed die, but only through beheading. Unfortunately, it seems such a beheading results in a great release of energy, power, and knowledge, manifested visually as lightening, which transfers to the nearest Immortal. ItÕs called the Quickening,Ó said Oliver, as if the very word would explain everything.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Percy went back through OliverÕs words. ÒI think I can see where this is going. So Immortals go around chopping off each otherÕs heads in search of this power, this Quickening?Ó

The Scot shifted uncomfortably. ÒWell, not all of them. I certainly donÕt go around looking to kill people, and thereÕs a great deal of other Immortals who do the same. We try not to actively play the Game. But we all know how to defend ourselves.Ó

A brief image flashed through PercyÕs mind, and he tensed. ÒHow?Ó he asked, already guessing the answer.

A sharp sword emerged from OliverÕs robes. Oliver held the blade carefully in his hands, presenting it to Percy. ÒThis is my sword, a nineteenth century British army saber.Ó

Percy suppressed the urge to flinch away from the weapon. He was a scholar, not a warrior like Oliver. And yet here was Oliver, presenting his sword- and by implication, himself- for judgment. ÒAn unusual choice, Oliver,Ó he said, keeping his face expressionless. ÒA Scotsman who wields the instrument of British subjugation. Ironic. But what happens when multiple Immortals gang up on a single opponent?Ó

Oliver stared at the keen blade, clearly remembering past battles. ÒSupposedly, there are a series of rules. All fights are one-on-one to the death, no witnesses. No fighting on holy ground- it doesnÕt matter what religion, only that it was once considered holy by people.Ó

Percy looked down at the blade as well, noting the many miniscule nicks and scratches that indicated recent use. Oliver had killed, he realized, and he would kill again. ÒYou still didnÕt answer my question. What happens if Immortals donÕt play by the rules?Ó

The chocolate eyes snapped up, meeting PercyÕs icy blue ones. ÒThatÕs what my gun is for. Either that, or I flee the scene and run like Hades,Ó he said, his face a mask of grim determination. For a moment, he glared at Percy, seemingly challenging him to criticize the gun. Then the moment passed, and Oliver was once again blank.

ÒOh,Ó said Percy, taking a moment to sift through the influx of information. Oliver had laid himself bare to Percy, and now it was up to him to judge. The decision was made before Percy had even consciously arrived at it. ÒAnd I suppose itÕs no coincidence that you also seem to carry an unusual amount of knives on you,Ó he said, teasingly. Acceptance, offered instinctively but without reserve.

Together, they both winced as they recalled the awkwardness the night before, as Oliver had shed a small arsenal of weapons. ÒVery astute, as always, my dear Weasley,Ó said Oliver, chuckling lightly, but clearly relieved at PercyÕs decision. ÒItÕs rather stupid for an Immortal to carry just one weapon. I like to cover my bases. One last thing- we can sense each other. We get a slight headache anytime we get within range of an Immortal. ItÕs this odd, tingly feeling of warning that only goes away when the two Immortals look each other in the eyes.Ó

That peculiar instinct that led Percy to accept Oliver quieted, and the analyst returned, thinking rapidly to interpret OliverÕs deliberate mention of the warning. ÒThat explains you three this morning,Ó realized Percy, groaning slightly. ÒYouÕre all Immortal.Ó

ÒYes. Does that bother you?Ó OliverÕs eyes flickered nervously down to the timer.

Percy followed his gaze to the timer, the cold sense of dread increasing exponentially. ÒLess than it should, I suppose. IÉÓ He stopped, knowing suddenly that something was off about the ritual. The Darkness would change everything.

The alarm beeped insistently. It was time. It was now or never. No time for thoughts, just action.

Precisely acting out the ritual, Oliver blessed the water in the basin. It didnÕt matter that Oliver had not been ordained. The performance of the ritual by one who had walked in darkness merely added to the desecration necessary for the ritual. From there, he walked to where Percy was sitting, sprinkling him and then the walls with the newly blessed water from the pool as a sign of cleansing. After three Scripture readings (selected in advance by Adam), Oliver turned his attention back to the building and its furnishings. He poured oil over the altar and rubbed it into the stone with his hands. The altar was next covered with the charcoal and wax, to represent the wounds of the crucified Christ, and set on fire briefly to symbolize its purification. From the altar, Oliver went to a wall, placed his hands in a bowl of oil set there, and smeared it in the form of a large cross. Returning to the altar, Oliver censed the altar, a symbol for prayers. Finally, Oliver kissed the makeshift altar, anointing it as a corrupted sign of Christ. The first part of the ritual was over.

Then, suddenly, he pounced. Percy, caught by surprise, quickly found himself laying neatly bound onto of the altar. _What a pretty picture this must look like_, he thought, scolding himself for not being prepared. Had it been any other person, he would have been able to fight. Oliver made him lose his edge. Percy scolded himself for falling for AdamÕs description of the ritual. He had felt immediately that something was off, but had dismissed the feeling as nervousness and fear of the darkness. Sex on the altar was just too easy, there had to be something darker in such a dark spell. What an idiot he had been to let himself be fooled.

Oliver stood in front of him and gazed hungrily at PercyÕs prone form. Then, just as suddenly, the rabid look of wanting dissolved away, leaving cold determination. This, Percy knew, was the beginning of the part he hadnÕt heard about. Oliver took out an elaborate jeweled dagger and held it to his own right wrist. He looked into PercyÕs eyes. ÒIÕm sorry.Ó

The dagger slid neatly into OliverÕs wrist cutting deep. Blood welled up from the wound. ÒDrink,Ó Oliver commanded, forcefully holding his mouth open. It flowed into PercyÕs mouth, choking him. Oliver began chanting something- for once, Percy didnÕt take notice, being occupied with trying to stay alive. He resisted swallowing at first, repulsed- then something inside him clicked and he was not himself. _Fortuna_, he realized, feeling her presence flow into him with the blood. He swallowed, giving in and accepting the Darkness. His body convulsed, feeling white-hot pain as the foreign blood was absorbed into his system. Somewhere, he felt the cool touch of metal as Oliver cut his arm lightly, releasing some sort of white mist into the air. His muscles contracted, and he found himself free of his bonds. His body rose of its own volition and pushed an unresisting Oliver onto the bloodied altar. And Percy Weasley welcomed the Darkness with open arms.


End file.
